


for me, formidable

by mikkary



Category: Tsubasa: Reservoir Chronicle
Genre: Chinese Translation Available, Fai is a pianist, Fai takes nothing seriously, Foreign Language, Kurogane POV, Kurogane is a chef, Language Barrier, M/M, Slow Burn, and that's valid, can i make it any more obvious, not language not learning not love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-01
Updated: 2019-07-01
Packaged: 2020-05-31 17:48:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19431016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mikkary/pseuds/mikkary
Summary: The new pianist at Tomoyo’s restaurant barely speaks a word of English, it seems, but that doesn’t seem to stop him from teasing Kurogane at every possible occasion. It might even be impressive, if Kurogane wasn’t so annoyed.





	for me, formidable

**Author's Note:**

> Technically I'm working on my KuroFai Olympics fic but this was a sweet interlude to get me in the flow of writing Tsubasa fic again after nearly a decade. The title for this fic is from the song "For Me, Formidable" by Charles Aznavour. It's a French classic but [this version](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hEqH5d4-Xvg) from The Voice France is my favorite cover.
> 
> There is a lot of French in this fic, but when the French is written out, the meanings will always be explained by context if not direct translation, so please don't let it hinder your reading experience! Also, I'm fairly confident in my grammar but if you catch any French mistakes please let me know.
> 
> A Chinese translation for this fic is available here: <http://faynya.lofter.com/post/1f7eb72c_1c66c94b5>!

Yuuko Ichihara doesn’t stop by often, but when she does, Kurogane knows it means trouble. He’s still not sure what a “management consultant” even does, but each of her visits results in staff routines at the Daidouji Palace Hotel being upended for weeks as Tomoyo implements whatever harebrained scheme Yuuko has come up with. Last time, it was craft mocktails – conceptually ridiculous, but not too chaotic. Before that, ghost tours – a nightmare.

Today she’s sitting at Tomoyo’s usual table, next to a blond, waiflike man in a suit, who might have been worth a second glance if Kurogane hadn’t been so apprehensive at Yuuko’s sudden appearance. Maybe he was her new secretary. What had happened to that other guy? Tanuki-something.

But Kurogane tries not to be too curious, because that’s what gets you into trouble with Yuuko. In fact, he tries to make himself as unobtrusive as possible, sticking to the edge of the dining room and hoping to reach the kitchen before–

“Kurogane!” Tomoyo calls in her brightest, sweetest voice, and Kurogane closes his eyes and sighs.

When he turns back to walk towards Tomoyo’s table, his expression is perfectly professional, though he does give an amused glance at the pile of petit-fours on a plate at the table. The results of Sakura’s practice, now put to good use. She’s almost ready to be a full pastry chef, not just an apprentice, and as soon as Arashi leaves to get married the job will probably be hers automatically, unless she has other plans. Kurogane is proud of her.

He’s also proud of Tomoyo, who has been running the flagship Daidouji hotel by herself for the past three years, and doing a stellar job of it. Before Kurogane was Tomoyo’s head chef, he was something of an older brother, and he still feels a brotherly pride at everything she’s accomplished.

That pride is usually tempered by a brotherly annoyance, though, and it’s annoyance that flares up now. “I need to prep the menu for tonight,” he tells Tomoyo, but they both know he doesn’t need to do that _right_ now. He turns to Yuuko and nods. “Ichihara.”

“Suwa,” Yuuko says, returning his nod with a look of amused indulgence. “What are you serving us tonight?”

“I can’t tell you, because I haven’t _prepped_ the _menu_ ,” Kurogane begins, familiar annoyance flaring up at Yuuko’s teasing tone.

Tomoyo beams at Kurogane and ignores their conversation. “Yuuko found us another piano player!” She turns her bright smile onto the blonde. “This is Fai Flourite. He just moved here from France, to study at the Horitsuba Conservatory!”

Reluctantly, Kurogane turns his suspicious gaze back to the tall, thin blonde man, who is looking between him, Yuuko, and Tomoyo with a bemused look on his face. After a beat, as if he’s a few seconds behind everyone else in the conversation, he smiles at Kurogane.

His smile is annoying.

“Fai, this is Kurogane Suwa, our head chef,” Tomoyo says very slowly. “Kurogane, Fai.”

Fai nods along with the introduction, and his annoying smile gets even bigger. He offers his hand and Kurogane takes it, noting long, thin fingers, a dry palm, a decently firm grip. A piano player’s hand, he thinks, or what he imagines a piano player’s hand would be like. “Pleased to meet you,” Fai says. He has possibly the thickest French accent Kurogane has ever heard. Which is impressive, given that he’s spent years in the culinary field and meets French people fairly often. “Chef Kuro…”

“Kurogane,” Kurogane repeats slowly, willing to extend an olive branch to this airheaded piano player.

Fai tilts his head slightly to the side, looking Kurogane up and down with that same blank grin on his face. Like he’s measuring Kurogane for… something. Evaluating him. It makes Kurogane’s skin feel tight and a little prickly, and it’s only sheer force of will that keeps him from squirming under that blank blue gaze. And then Fai opens his mouth and tries again: “Kuro… nounours.”

 _“What?!_ ” Kurogane snaps, practically throwing Fai’s hand back at him as he lets it go. His indignation is loud enough that heads turn to look at him from across the room.

Fai laughs quietly and covers his mouth, which does absolutely nothing to hide his stupid grin. Yuuko doesn’t bother to hide her wide smile, and Tomoyo looks amused, too.

“ _What_ did you call me?” Kurogane repeats, lowering himself down a little so that he’s at eye level with Fai, who remains seated. He’s used to using his height and his physical bulk as an intimidation tactic; it helps him stay dominant in tense kitchen confrontations, and he’s not above intimidating people to get some respect.

Fai doesn’t look intimidated, though. He looks _delighted_. “Kuro-coco,” he says, meeting Kurogane’s eyes and _everything_.

Kurogane is–

He’s going to–

“Kurogane, be nice to Fai, here,” Tomoyo cuts in before the red haze of anger can fully obscure Kurogane’s vision. “He’s come from far away. And he’s still working on his English, as you can see.”

As if the stupid butchering of his name is a _language difficulty_. “Hmph,” Kurogane says as angrily as possible, crossing his arms over his chest before he really gets into a fight.

“Tonight is his audition, so wish him luck!” Tomoyo continues as if Kurogane said nothing at all.

“ _Hmph_ ,” Kurogane says even more emphatically, taking the dismissal for what it is and turning around to march away.

The sound of Fai’s quiet laughter seems to follow him across the room, and he’s… furious.

 _Is_ he furious?

Kurogane isn’t a common name, even in Japanese. In second grade, a few kids thought they could bully him about it. The taunts had lasted all of a minute before Kurogane lashed out. He got suspended from school for a week, but no one made fun of his name again.

Fai’s stupid jokes… weren’t like that. There was no malicious intent behind them, as far as Kurogane could tell (and he’s pretty good at sensing malicious intent). Just airheaded delight and a desire to tease that reminds Kurogane forcibly of Yuuko. No wonder Yuuko is the one who brought him to the Daidouji Hotel. They deserve each other.

Still, later that night, Kurogane finds himself slipping out of the kitchen and into the dining room for a few minutes. As head chef, he spends most of his time supervising each station and making sure that everything runs like clockwork. The night has been smooth thus far, and he takes advantage of a lull in orders to go see Tomoyo’s new pianist in action.

All the way from the kitchen doorway, he can hear the music drifting across the dining room. Kurogane doesn’t know much about music but even he can tell that Fai’s playing elegant, graceful, evocative. This is piano how it was meant to be heard, Kurogane realizes for the first time; it’s nothing like the efforts of the pianists they’d hired before.

Tomoyo is standing unobtrusively against a pillar in the back of the dining area, watching the grand piano across the room. “He’s a catch, don’t you think?” she asks without looking as he comes to stand next to her.

“He’s… something,” Kurogane admits gruffly. In his black suit and bow tie, with his flyaway hair combed into some semblance of order and his laughing blue eyes half-closed as he plays, Fai looks…

Well. He looks nothing like the weirdo who was bouncing around the Daidouji Palace Hotel this afternoon, saying stupid things in broken English and giving Kurogane infuriating nicknames. Kurogane wonders if Fai has ever focused on anyone as seriously as he’s focusing on the piano right now. His pale hands skim up and down the keys, and the music doesn’t seem like it takes any effort at all. It looks like flying.

“This is just who my family’s piano needed,” Tomoyo continues, and finally turns to smile up at Kurogane. “See? Yuuko knows what she’s doing.”

“Tch,” Kurogane snorts and forces his attention away from Fai as he turns to go back to the kitchen. The music from the piano follows him down the short hallway until he pushes open the double doors – careful to ensure no one else is on their way out – and is immersed in the bright hubbub of the kitchen once more.

*

Fai’s music floats through the dining room every Friday, Saturday, and Sunday evening, and Fai floats into the restaurant staff and their weekend routine.

It starts in small ways. Sakura has always wanted to go to culinary school in France, and has been learning French since high school. She starts trailing Fai around the dining area and then the lobby whenever she has free time, and Kurogane doesn’t know if she ever works up the courage to actually _ask_ him, but soon enough they’re speaking in French together – Fai delighted, Sakura hesitant.

Tomoyo, too, starts trailing Fai around the lobby, but she has stacks of sheet music and piles of folded fabric and Kurogane can’t even begin to fathom what they could be talking about (or what language they could be speaking), or when Fai’s opinion became so damn valuable.

Kurogane isn’t jealous. Without Tomoyo harassing him or Sakura following him around like a lost duckling, he gets his work done quickly and with minimal fuss. And of course Fai is a good resource to have around. He knows music, he knows French, he – at least, judging by Tomoyo’s behavior – knows something about fashion or modeling or whatever they’re doing together.

It takes several weeks for Kurogane to work through the mix of emotions he’s feeling. But one Sunday afternoon, he catches sight of Tomoyo, Sakura, and Fai all seated at a table in the back of the hotel dining room, Sakura’s practice pastries piled high around them, as they laugh uproariously at some shared joke. And then there’s a little twist in his gut as he realizes: he feels left out.

Which is stupid, because he _rarely_ , if ever, chooses to spend time with Tomoyo and Sakura like that. They have their own friendship and he doesn’t want to disrupt it; he has his own life to live. But Fai has become part of that little group so effortlessly that it makes Kurogane wonder if he should have tried, too.

He doesn’t have much time to feel pathetic, though, because then Fai catches sight of him and waves, that inane grin on his face.

That’s another thing that has been happening over the past few weeks: Fai has floated into Kurogane’s life, too. The ridiculous nicknames don’t stop – he’s always Kuro-loup this, Kuro-doudou that, and he’s pretty sure it sounds like baby talk even in French. Fai is always waving at him too, and doing his best to get underfoot in every way possible. He’d _just happened_ to be in two of the three meetings Kurogane had with Tomoyo to discuss their spring seasonal menu offerings, even though he simply sat there with a vapid smile on his face as he followed their conversation with his gaze. Kurogane never knows how much he understands. For a while, he’d toyed with the paranoid thought that maybe Fai was totally fluent in English and just playing around. But there are moments when Fai’s confusion is genuine, and Kurogane starts to feel for him… and then Fai ruins it all with another stupid nickname.

Like this one: “Hello, Kuro-râleur!” Fai calls, waving at him.

“It’s _Ku-ro-ga-ne_ ,” Kurogane snaps as he stomps towards the group, even though he’s long-since given up on getting this through Fai’s thick skull. Japanese is a syllabic language. It’s not hard to understand. It’s not hard to pronounce. And if “ _Mademoiselle Daidouji_ ” can fall musically off Fai’s lips, why can’t _Kurogane_? “Do your stupid nicknames even _mean_ anything?”

Fai pauses, parses the sentence, then grins even wider. “Of course,” he says, leaning his chin in his hand and practically _fluttering_ his eyelashes at Kurogane. The gesture is so ridiculous it increases Kurogane’s annoyance tenfold. “Kuro is Kuro, _râleur_ is…” He considers for a moment and then glances at Sakura. “ _Un râleur, c’est quelqu’un qui râle... tu vois_?” he attempts, but Sakura just frowns and shakes her head with a repentant look.

Fai’s face falls momentarily, but then the grin is back so quickly that Kurogane wonders if he didn’t miss the change in his expression. He whips out his phone, types in the term to a translation app, and then turns the phone to show Kurogane with a triumphant grin.

 _Râleur_ , the app says. _GROUCH_.

“You _airhead_ ,” Kurogane begins, realizing it’s even more annoying when he knows what Fai’s stupid nicknames actually mean.

He doesn’t know if Fai gets the insult itself but he certainly gets the tone. Infuriatingly, it just makes him laugh with delight, as if Kurogane had given him some great compliment..

“Um, chef,” Sakura interjects before Kurogane can follow up with another insult. “I was wondering– would it be alright if Fai came and ate with us in the kitchen after closing? He’s working the same hours as us on the weekend, anyway, and I bet it would be good for his English practice…” She trails off hopefully, looking up at him. Kurogane has always been weak in the face of her big, green puppydog eyes, which was one reason he agreed to take her on as an apprentice chef. He glances at Fai, wondering if he’ll have a similar look on his face, but Fai’s gaze slides away from Kurogane’s as he stares at a plate full of Sakura’s miniature _pain au chocolat_. He seems… embarrassed? Is embarrassment an emotion that even exists for Fai?

Finding no answers there, Kurogane glances at Tomoyo, raising his eyebrows. “Is that alright with you?” He has nothing to do with Fai, after all. Tomoyo’s the one who hired him.

“It’s your kitchen, chef,” Tomoyo says with her brightest smile. It’s sweet of her to underline his authority over his kitchen, but that’s because she already knows there’s only one right answer.

Kurogane sighs and turns back to Sakura. “Fine. But you’re in charge of making sure he stays out of trouble,” he says, not looking at Fai.

Sakura beams. “Yes, chef!”

Then Kurogane turns to Fai. “Understand? You eat with us, but don’t mess around.”

“Mess?” Fai asks with a slight frown, and Sakura turns to – presumably – explain Kurogane’s instruction in halting French.

“Ahhh,” Fai says, looking at Kurogane with a wide smile as Sakura finishes the explanation. “Yes. I understand. No problem, Kuro-chef,” he says, and – to Kurogane’s eternal outrage – he winks.

By now, Kurogane knows there’s only one way to deal with this level of deliberate provocation. He turns and walks away.

That night, as promised, Fai slips into the kitchen as they’re cleaning up. Kurogane was half-expecting him to start getting underfoot with his stupid smile and his stupider nicknames. But, also as promised, Fai hangs back and sticks close to Sakura, who makes sure to keep him out of the way. Kurogane’s kitchen, after all, is a well-oiled machine, and the last thing anyone needs is for a new person to walk in and start getting in the way. That’s how kitchen accidents happen.

When they finally sit down to eat a meal largely composed of the leftovers from the dinner shift and a soup that Fuuma threw together from kitchen scraps and simmered all evening, Fai manages to insinuate himself into the group like he’s always belonged there, nodding and smiling and laughing along with the conversation. But he rarely speaks – or rather, if there’s conversation, there are rarely pauses long enough for Fai to gather what words he knows in English and express what he wants to say.

Sakura helps, of course, as does Fuuma who, it turns out, knows some serviceable from his time as a line cook in Marseille. But there are always moments where the conversation leaves Fai behind, and Kurogane sees the way the light in his blue eyes dims a little, or the way his expression goes distant for a few moments before his attention is claimed once more by Sakura, Fuuma, or someone else.

And Kurogane notices. And he’s not sure what to think.

*

Japanese is Kurogane’s first language, and it might have been his only language if his parents hadn’t moved from Kyoto to Los Angeles when Kurogane was five. They’d started him in an English-language kindergarten, figuring that full immersion would be best for a kid his age, and Kurogane still has nightmares where he’s sitting in a tiny desk in a too-small classroom, listening to a teacher speak at him in a language that he doesn’t understand.

He’d learned, of course. But that experience has stayed with him.

Kurogane’s parents died when he was nine, and after that, he’d dropped out of his extracurricular Japanese classes, choosing instead to practice through conversation with Tomoyo and her family. Years later, Kurogane remembers picking up a Japanese newspaper, expecting his fluency in spoken Japanese would carry over to the written language, only to be faced by blocks and blocks of unintelligible kanji and the realization that he was functionally illiterate in the language that was the closest thing he had to _home_.

He thinks about that when he watches Fai at the staff dinners, his English even more clumsy and awkward in comparison with his fluency on the piano not long before. He thinks about it when he watches Tomoyo try to communicate with Fai, watches him wait for Sakura to translate.

It’s not the same, of course; English isn’t Fai’s mother tongue (he assumes) and Los Angeles is hardly Fai’s home. But Kurogane likes to think he knows something about how it feels when you can’t communicate the way you want to, and what it’s like to be a few steps behind everybody else.

He doesn’t _want_ to have these kinds of feelings about Fai. But the feelings grow anyway.

*

Kurogane buys a French dictionary. This is _not_ a defeat. It’s… it’s strategy, because if Fai is going to continue being annoying as he has been for the past few weeks, Kurogane might as well be able to tell him off in a language that he’ll understand. He looks up words one by one. You - _tu_. Are - to be - _être_. Annoying - _ennuyeux_.

“You have to conjugate the verb,” Sakura tells him very helpfully when she catches a glimpse of his scrawled page of notes. “So it would be ‘ _tu es ennuyeux_.’” What comes out of her mouth sounds absolutely nothing like the letters Kurogane has written on his page and he almost gives up then and there. But he can’t, because that would mean that Fai has won.

(He doesn’t know when him learning French has become a contest with Fai, but since Kurogane learns fastest through competition, he doesn’t question it.)

“‘You’re boring?’” Sakura asks after she writes down her correction. “Chef... is this for Fai?”

That skepticism in her tone is well-deserved; Fai deserves many adjectives, but boring is not one of them. “Annoying,” he corrects gruffly, already opening up his dictionary again. “I meant to say annoying.”

Sakura peers over his shoulder as they look at the words. “ _Agaçant_ might work,” she suggests dubiously, pointing to the word. “Or _énervant_. I don’t really know. Words sometimes mean something different in context…”

At least French is about as difficult for her as it is for Kurogane. Sakura’s just got a head start, that’s all. And a personal tutor. “ _Agaçant_ ,” he attempts, writing down the word. “ _Tu es agaçant_.” He doesn’t need Sakura’s little giggle to tell him that his accent is atrocious. He knows. He’s got a native speaker to compare it with, after all.

And later, when Kurogane finally snaps and tosses the phrase out at Fai, when he’s hanging around the kitchen after closing time when the staff (Kurogane included) is cleaning up after their late dinner, Fai stops in his tracks and cocks his head to the side slightly, like he’s not sure what he just heard. Like he’s trying to puzzle it out. And then he grins so widely it spreads across his whole face, and the sheer delight radiating from his thin frame makes the rest of the kitchen staff start throwing nervous glances their way.

“ _Moi? Tu penses que moi, je suis agaçant?_ ”

For the first time, Kurogane realizes he might have miscalculated.

“Kuro-bibou,” Fai continues, then launches into a perfectly incomprehensible torrent of words. And Kurogane just… stands there, remembering Sakura’s comment about words meaning different things in context and trying to figure out what Fai means from his body language (bouncy) and the tone of his voice (French). At least it doesn’t seem like Kurogane gravely insulted him. Not that he would have minded, if he had. But he’d have preferred to do it on purpose.

And then Fai claps his hands in a manner that makes everyone else in the room realize they’re staring and quickly look away. “You are learning French!” he says, still beaming. “I…” There’s an audible pause as he searches for the word. “Teach! I will teach!”

He… definitely miscalculated.

And in spite of Kurogane’s protests (legitimate ones, because he _is_ busy), Fai somehow ropes him into a Sunday morning lesson. He arrives, still yawning after a late night, at around ten-thirty a.m., to find Fai waiting at Tomoyo’s table with a cup of coffee, a croissant from the lobby coffeeshop, and a huge stack of printed worksheets.

Kurogane sighs and resigns himself to an hour and a half of boredom. But they only make it through two worksheets before Fai seems to get bored too, and starts pointing to various objects around them.

“ _Croissant_ ,” he says with a grin, pointing to his breakfast.

“Yes, I _know_ what a croissant is,” Kurogane says. Does Fai really think he’s that stupid? But no, the familiar glimmer has returned to Fai’s eyes. He doesn’t think Kurogane is stupid. He just wants to tease.

And, as Kurogane realizes that, Fai laughs. “ _Un café_ ,” he says, pointing to the dregs of coffee in his cup. “ _Un café express_. An expresso.”

“Espresso,” Kurogane corrects. This is a stupid way to start learning, but having a grasp of French vocabulary can’t hurt, especially for cooking. He turns over the worksheet they’ve abandoned and starts writing down the words Fai is offering him.

“ _Une tasse. Un verre. Une assiette. Une serviette_.”

Well, he attempts to write down the words. Fai glances over his atrocious spelling and then laughs, grabbing the pen in order to correct them. And then he pokes Kurogane in the shoulder. “ _Un bras_.”

“What–”

“Arm,” Fai says, laughing all over again. “ _Un bras_. An arm.” He pokes Kurogane in the thigh.

Kurogane squirms, smacking Fai’s hand away from him. “Take this _seriously_ , can’t you–”

“ _Une jambe_ ,” Fai says. “A leg. _Un ours grognon_. A…” He pauses, that annoying laughter still hovering at the edges of his smile, as he tries to think of the translation. “A– you. You are _ours grognon_.” And he helpfully writes it down so that Kurogane can look it up in his new dictionary to find that it means–

“I am not a _grumpy bear_ , you– you–” But any insults that come to mind are too rude or too complicated for Fai to understand. He’s not good at lighthearted teasing.

But Fai just laughs, and repeats “grumpy bear” in such a thick accent that the words are almost incomprehensible.

By the time their hour and a half lesson is over, Kurogane has a vocabulary list that covers the backs of three worksheets, written in his block letters with Fai’s scribbled corrections. It’s words for just about everything Fai could point to in the dining room, including body parts and items of clothing. And Kurogane feels… like he actually learned something, even though he’d be hard-pressed to use any of these words in a sentence.

“It’s time,” Fai says as he sees Kurogane checking his watch. He looks happy too, Kurogane thinks. Not that he doesn’t always look happy, but there’s a newly relaxed angle to the slope of his shoulders, and his smile lights up his eyes, not just his face. For the first time, Kurogane realizes that body language also has a vocabulary and a grammar you can learn. He’ll probably never be fluent in French, but maybe he can be fluent in _Fai_.

It should probably worry Kurogane, that he kind of _wants_ that fluency. He doesn’t have the opportunity to sit with that realization though, because Fai is already packing up the useless worksheets. Half of them aren’t even for French, Kurogane realizes as Fai shuffles the papers. They’re for English. Was this supposed to be Fai’s study time?

He frowns and Fai pokes him in the forehead with his own pen. “Hey–!”

“ _Au revoir_ , we say in French,” Fai says, beaming at him. “ _A la prochaine. A ce soir, mon Kuro-loup_ ,” and Kurogane rolls his eyes at the nickname as Fai drifts off to do… whatever else he does on Sunday mornings.

Well. If Fai wants to use his study time to goof off, Kurogane won’t stop him. But maybe he’ll make a bit more of an effort giving Fai English vocabulary words in return.

*

“Shouldn’t you be working on your English, instead? Since you’re living here,” Kurogane finally says after several weeks of Sunday lessons, but Fai waves off that suggestion.

“For the most, I understand,” he says in his thick accent, tapping his temple with one of those long fingers. “Speaking is after.”

“But you’re teaching me how to speak right _now_ ,” Kurogane points out. Not that Fai is really teaching him. Lessons mostly consist of Fai making him say and write whatever bizarre phrases he’s come up with at the moment, and Kurogane following along because French is now a puzzle, dammit, and he’s determined to figure it out.

Fai just laughs at him. “ _Mais c’est plus amusant, comme ça_ ,” he says, slowly enough that Kurogane can try to pick the sentence apart.

“More fun,” Kurogane translates aloud. “You’re just doing it this way because it’s _fun_?”

“ _Et quoi donc, est-ce que ça pose problème_?” Fai asks, and Kurogane knows enough French to realize that most of that sentence is fluff. He’s getting the feeling that most of what Fai says in French is fluff, actually. “Kuro-petitou needs a hobby.”

“Why don’t you just say my name, instead of inventing nicknames with too many syllables?!” Kurogane gripes.

“And I also need a hobby, no?”

That draws Kurogane up short and he glances at Fai, who gives him a one-shouldered shrug and a smile that isn’t quite as egregiously, offensively big as the usual grin that’s plastered all over his face.

 _Oh_ , Kurogane thinks. And, _huh_. But out loud, he says, “Well then, practice your damn English instead of telling me stupid things in French.”

And Fai laughs, and relaxes. “O- _kay_ ,” he says, drawing out the word in a really odd, flat way that Kurogane realizes is supposed to be an American accent. He has to bite down on the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling, because it’s a stupid joke and Fai is an idiot.

“Okay,” he agrees. “So let’s have a conversation. In English.”

Fai blinks. He clearly wasn’t expecting Kurogane to push, or to insist on having an English practice session now. “But we are learning French,” he protests. At least he complains in English.

“Then tell me what I’m saying in French,” Kurogane suggests. Usually he just lets Fai choose the direction for their lessons; Fai seems a bit stunned that he’s chosen to take the lead. “Where are you from?”

Fai is still looking surprised, but he obeys. “ _Tu viens d’où?_ ”

“ _Tu viens d’où?_ ” Kurogane repeats, and takes a stab at writing it down. His accent is still quite bad, but it isn’t as atrocious as it used to be, and he’s gotten better at guessing certain spellings in French, as well. “Now answer it,” he prompts as Fai is leaning over his shoulder and correcting his spelling.

Fai frowns a bit, but says, “I come from– I _am_ from Angoulême. In France,” he adds unnecessarily, though in all fairness Kurogane has never heard of a place named Angoulême before. “ _Je viens d’Angoulême_. _Et toi_? And you?”

“ _Je… viens de_ Kyoto,” Kurogane says, writing down the proper response as well. As always, Fai leans over to correct his spelling without being prompted. “But my parents moved here when I was young.”

Fai nods. He’s been getting very good at understanding one-on-one conversation, though he still has difficulty with group chatter or background noise. “ _Tu es japonais_.”

“I’m Japanese,” Kurogane agrees.

“Do you… speak? Japanese?” Fai asks, hesitating over the name of the language but making the correct guess.

Kurogane shrugs. “I can. But I don’t often.” He should, though. His efforts to learn French have made him start thinking more about fluency, and reminded him that no matter how well you know a language, it still slips away if you don’t practice with it much.

“ _Tu ne parles pas souvent le japonais_ ,” Fai offers, writing down the sentence before Kurogane has a chance to butcher the spelling again. “My, ah, brother… is learning Japanese,” he continues as he looks up from the page. He’s wearing an expression that Kurogane has never seen before, and it doesn’t quite fit on his face: Fai is hesitant, nervous, withdrawn.

Kurogane frowns, not sure what to make of this change in demeanor. “Your brother?”’

“He is a… _traducteur_ ,” Fai says, already reaching towards the dictionary. Their arms brush together as Kurogane looks over his shoulder. “Translator,” Fai says after a beat, pointing towards the page.

Kurogane’s first reaction is skepticism. “Really?” Fai’s mysterious brother is a translator, while Fai has been in Los Angeles for three months or more and is still halfheartedly struggling with basic English?

Fai gives a crooked smile and shrugs. “We are very different.”

He’s being honest, as far as Kurogane can tell, and he’s making a good effort with English, and– this is the first time he’s learned something about Fai _from_ him, rather than through observation or secondhand. So he offers something in return. “Tomoyo is… the closest thing I have to a sister. She’s like a sister to me,” he amends in response to Fai’s slight frown. “A younger sister.”

And Fai’s familiar grin is back, though it’s less obnoxious than before. “ _Oui, je peux le voir_. Have– do you have real sisters?”

Kurogane shakes his head. “I don’t have any other family.” Not anymore, at least, and he doesn’t want to talk about his parents to Fai. Not right now, anyway.

“Ah,” Fai says, his grin fading. “Me as well.”

There’s a moment of silence, during which Kurogane meets Fai’s eyes and thinks that they’re… more similar than he’d have guessed. Except maybe he _had_ guessed earlier, when he’d seen that shadow of loneliness in Fai’s eyes at their staff dinners.

And then Fai smiles and the moment ends. But his smile isn’t that cheesy grin from before; it’s just a little bit softer, a little bit more real. “So. Next question. What is your favorite food? _Quel est ton plat préféré_?” He pulled Kurogane’s paper towards him again to write down the question.

You’d think that would be a hard question for someone with as much culinary experience as Kurogane. But it’s the opposite. “Chazuke,” he says immediately. “It’s… cooked rice with green tea poured on it. And other things on top.” There’s really no way to explain it other than making it for Fai, and… maybe he will one day. He could share the comfort food that he’d loved since he was a child. Kurogane carefully stops thinking about that. “Or good sushi, with fatty tuna.”

Fai wrinkles his nose at the idea of sushi, which is annoying but entirely unsurprising. “I do not eat fish.”

“‘Course not,” Kurogane says, rolling his eyes slightly. “What’s your favorite food, then?” He glances down at the worksheet, belatedly remembering that they’re also practicing French. “Er– _quel est ton plat préféré_?”

“ _Fondant au chocolat_ ,” Fai responds immediately, and it’s Kurogane’s turn to wrinkle his nose. “Chocolate, ah…”

“Cake?” Kurogane offers as the missing word. That’s not quite right, but English is a notoriously poor language when it comes to describing desserts. He shrugs. “We just say it in French anyway.”

“The– most of pastries are in French,” Fai observes, still grinning. “Sakura is teaching me, but the names are all the same.”

“That’s why Sakura is learning French,” Kurogane responds and of course Fai knows that, but he nods anyway.

“She is good,” Fai offers. “A good girl.”

Kurogane smiles – he can’t help it. “Yeah.”

It’s the best French lesson they’ve had so far, and by the time it ends, Kurogane feels a strange contentment settling into his bones. He’s… happy with this arrangement, happy that he decided to learn French, happy to spend an hour and a half with Fai every Sunday. Which… isn’t anything like what he expected when he’d first met Fai. But it also isn’t anything to complain about – as long as Yuuko never finds out.

*

After their surprisingly honest French-and-English lesson, most things stay the same. Fai still calls him by ridiculously offensive nicknames (Kuro-chaton, Kuro-chien, Kuro-chouette), still attends staff dinners on the weekends, still tries to weasel out of working on his English as much as possible. But a lot of things change, too. “Kuro-chef” starts popping up more and more often in the endless litany of nicknames, and Kurogane finds himself almost accepting it. Fai often sits next to him at staff dinners and they speak in a clumsy mix of French and English while Kurogane does his level best to ignore Fuuma’s annoyingly _significant_ looks from across the table. And when Fai does decide to work on his English, they do so through actual conversation. Fai tells him bits and pieces about France (Kurogane has never been) and works his way haltingly, with assistance from Kurogane and the dictionary, through funny stories from the Horitsuba Conservatory. Kurogane learns French vocabulary and phrases for food, music, and travel. And it’s… nice.

It’s really nice.

It’s so nice that he doesn’t notice all the ways Fai has wormed himself into his life. Weekend dinners and Sunday French lessons turn into occasional coffee breaks during the week, texts in French and English ( _franglish_ , Fai types with three laughing emoji), the feeling of _missing_ Fai when he takes one weekend off to go perform in San Francisco.

Tomoyo brings it up first, of course. Kurogane gets to the Daidouji Palace Hotel early on the Sunday after Fai’s performance in San Francisco, and orders two drinks in the lobby coffee shop: one large black iced coffee, no milk or sugar, for him, and one vanilla latte with two sugars for Fai. He’s settling at their usual table when Tomoyo walks up to him with a smile. “Is one of these drinks for me?” she asks.

“You don’t drink coffee,” Kurogane replies gruffly. She also doesn’t show up to her hotel at this time on a Sunday morning – Tomoyo devotes several mornings a week to her hobby-turned-small business as a fashion designer, and Sundays are one of those days.

“It’s never too late to start,” Tomoyo says with a particularly innocent smile, and Kurogane pulls both drinks just slightly closer to him. “You’re early today, aren’t you? French lesson?”

Tomoyo hasn’t talked to him much about his French lessons, and Kurogane was beginning to hope that her habitual nosiness didn’t apply to this situation. Of course, he’d been wrong. “Yes.”

“You’re enjoying those, aren’t you?”

“Yes.” Generally, when Tomoyo is on the hunt for information, monosyllabic replies are the best option. Kurogane has learned from long experience.

“Fai is enjoying them too. I think it’s so cute, how he teases you.”

“Mm.”

“And you let him tease you. If you were _really_ angry with him, he wouldn’t be our piano player anymore.”

“Hn.” She’s right, and Kurogane can at least admit that in the silence of his own head, but hearing Tomoyo say it out loud makes the back of his neck and his ears flush with embarrassment. He attempts to redirect the conversation. “What are you doing here today, anyway?”

“Waiting for Sakura,” Tomoyo says with evident delight. “We’re doing a photoshoot today. I made her this _adorable_ green kimono, and I found a parasol the other day at a thrift store, and the presidential suite is in _spring_ colors now but it’s empty today and I just couldn’t resist!” She clasps her hands together and directs a rapturous look towards the ceiling, lost in fantasies of whatever elaborate staging she’s planned for the shoot. But then, because this is Tomoyo, she gets right back to business. “I think I’m going to do a photoshoot with Fai after your lesson, if he has time. I made him an outfit that matches Sakura’s!”

“That’s nice,” Kurogane says, and objectively, it _is_ ; Fai and Sakura are both beautiful and will look lovely in whatever Tomoyo has them wear. But it puts a bit of a sour feeling in his stomach, thinking about Tomoyo spending all that measuring, fitting, and modeling time with Fai. Which is stupid, because Fai is his own person with his own life and can be _exhausting_ to spend time with in the first place, so Kurogane should be glad that he’s not always hanging around.

“You can come too,” Tomoyo says, her excited grin turning sly. “You could watch.”

Kurogane’s stomach flips all the way over by the time he’s even able to consciously process Tomoyo’s words. Between that and the sour feeling – and the iced coffee he’s already half-finished – he feels vaguely sick, and he resents that Tomoyo is able to manipulate him like this. “No,” he says immediately.

“No?”

“I don’t care about fashion. And I have prep work to do for today. So does Sakura,” he adds as an afterthought. “So don’t keep her past four.”

“I won’t,” Tomoyo says, crossing her heart. “Promise. But you know, you’re always welcome to one of our shoots. I’m sure Fai would like that.” Before Kurogane has a chance to react to that statement, Tomoyo perks up. “Oh, and here he is now!” She waves, and Kurogane follows her gaze to Fai, strolling into the hotel lobby. “Well. I have to go ask him about the shoot, but have fun in your lesson, alright?” And she pats Kurogane on the head and hurries across the room to intercept Fai.

As he watches them talk, Kurogane ignores the turmoil in his stomach and takes a big sip of his iced coffee. He _knows_ why he’s jealous of the whole stupid photoshoot, and he also knows what Tomoyo was implying when she said Fai would be happy to have him along. It’s not just because Kurogane can speak French, and it’s not just (Kurogane imagines) because they’re friendly. He’s not a fool, and just because he chooses not to express his emotions doesn’t mean he’ll deny them. He was just… he was just hoping he wouldn’t have to confront them for a very long time, if ever. And now that Tomoyo has prompted him to face what he’s been getting into this whole time, he’s not sure how to feel.

“Hello, Kuro-chef,” Fai says as he finally comes over, smiling at Kurogane.

“ _Bonjour_ ,” Kurogane offers and Fai’s smile widens.

His conversation with Tomoyo has left him feeling unbalanced, and when Fai thanks him for the latte, his smile makes Kurogane’s stomach continue doing funny things. Maybe he should have gotten food at the coffee shop too.

“ _Tu m’a manqué, le week-end dernier_ ,” Fai says as Kurogane spreads out his notes and pulls out his dictionary. “You– hmm. The last weekend, I…”

Kurogane is already handing him the dictionary, and Fai flips through it until he finds the word that he’s looking for: _manquer_. To miss; to lack. “I missed you,” he says aloud.

“Yes,” Fai says, meeting his eyes with the slight smile that shows he means what he’s saying. “ _Tu m’a manqué_.” And he writes it down.

They don’t really delve into all the implications of that statement though, or its odd grammar. Instead, Fai uses it as a springboard to dive into other common phrases: “Get well soon,” “I’m on my way,” “Happy birthday,” and so on. And then they start sharing proverbs, which is an exercise in futility and, Kurogane suspects, an excuse for Fai to tell him ridiculous phrases that he might have made up on the spot. But he always writes them down after, so at least Kurogane can look them up later.

“Almost finished,” Fai says after they finish stumbling their way through explaining and translating “ _à bon chat, bon rat_ ,” which is, near as Kurogane can tell, something about meeting your match in a fight. “Today Tomoyo is taking pictures of Sakura and me.”

“I heard,” Kurogane says dryly, because that’s the only way he can distance himself from whatever feelings Tomoyo has uprooted. “Enjoy that.”

“Yes,” Fai agrees. “But first– _d’abord_ – one more. _Oui_?”

Kurogane shrugs. “ _Oui_.”

Fai grins widely enough that Kurogane can’t help but be suspicious. “ _Donc, répète après-moi_. _Je_.” He gives Kurogane an expectant look.

Kurogane sighs, because who knows what ridiculous thing Fai has planned for him to say. But he repeats the word anyway: “ _Je_.” I.

“ _Très bien!_ ” Fai’s grin gets even wider. “Now– _Je t’aime_.”

“ _Je t’aime_ ,” Kurogane repeats and waits expectantly for Fai to finish whatever proverb he was offering.

But instead, Fai gives a delighted laugh and, before Kurogane can react, leans in and presses a kiss to his cheek. Then he disengages just as quickly and grabs his bag and his notebook. “ _Je t’aime aussi,_ Kuro-chou! _A la prochaine!_ Next time!” And then he waves and he’s gone, leaving Kurogane sitting at his table with a page of badly translated proverbs and a dumbfounded expression on his face.

 _Je t’aime_. Fai didn’t bother writing down the phrase, so Kurogane isn’t sure how to go about spelling it in order to look it up. So Fai was _deliberately_ obscuring the meaning from him, and that thought gnaws at Kurogane all afternoon as he goes shopping, inspects produce, double checks the menu, starts putting things together for the dinner service.

I… something. ‘I’m an idiot’, maybe.

Finally, after hours of stewing, Kurogane blurts it out to Sakura, as he checks on her station. “What does _je t’aime_ mean?”

“ _Je t’aime_?” Sakura repeats, going pink. “It means– it means ‘I love you’. Did Fai–” she begins, but Kurogane is already turning on his heel and hurrying away. The blood is rushing in his ears and he doesn’t want to know what Sakura’s question would have been. _Did Fai really tell you that? Did Fai think it was a joke?_

Kurogane doesn’t know how he feels but he does know that he needs a breather, and that the kitchen will survive five minutes without him. He has a half-baked idea of marching up to Fai, grabbing him by the collar, and shaking him until the truth falls out… so it’s probably for the best that Fai is already seated at the grand piano, playing for a scattered and appreciative audience. Kurogane watches him from the back of the dining room, secure in the knowledge that Fai’s attention is elsewhere right now, and tries to unpick the knot of feelings that have tangled up around this careless, teasing vocabulary lesson.

Maybe Fai had meant it. Or rather, maybe he’d _wanted_ to mean it, in the same way that he’d meant _tu m’a manqué_ , but he hadn’t quite gotten up the courage to take it seriously. After all, at least in English there are worlds of difference between “I miss you” and “I love you,” even though the sentiments overlap.

If he hadn’t meant it – Kurogane doesn’t particularly like considering this option – then… oh well. Then Fai will continue to tease, and Kurogane will continue to get angry, and they’ll continue to practice language together and it will be fine.

And when Fai is ready to say that phrase like he _means_ it, it won’t matter whether it’s in English or French. Kurogane already knows what his answer will be – he’ll look it up, write it down, memorize the pronunciation and the spelling.

But they have to get there first. And Kurogane can wait.

**Author's Note:**

> All of Fai's nicknames for Kurogane (Kuro-doudou, Kuro-loup, Kuro-chou, Kuro-petitou, etc.) are actual French terms of endearments tacked on to Kurogane's name. ♥


End file.
